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Bluthkurbu's Last Meal
Bluthkurbu's Last Meal is the final encounter in Man and Fiend. Enemies * Bluthkurbu's Imp (1235 Gold, 152 XP, 95 Energy, 7 HP) * Bluthkurbu's Wench (1235 Gold, 152 XP, 95 Energy, 7 HP) * Bluthkurbu's Tenderizer (1300 Gold, 160 XP, 100 Energy, 7 HP) * Lord Bluthkurbu (2925 Gold, 360 XP, 225 Energy, 1 HP) Transcript Introduction Bluthkurbu ate. For Bluthkurbu always ate. Even when he'd been observing the fighting near Krezzor from his hilltop vantage point, he'd done so with an imp's leg grasped in one hand and a vast slab of meat in the other. The former had dangled from his grasp, babbling reports, whilst Bluthkurbu bit chunks off the latter. Information had flown from the diminutive demon's mouth in a frantic flurry, the imp's wild eyes focused on the meat as it suffered and shrank under the obese demon's ministrations. Alas, Bluthkurbu had finished the meat before the imp had completed his report. And as his cries for fresh viands went unanswered, he'd been forced to rely on what was to hand, as it were. The gluttonous demon lord's maw had opened, widening in all directions like a stinking abyss, its walls and the gaps between his teeth lined with indiscernible residue from a million meals. Then there had been crunching. Bluthkurbu's memories were filled with remembered taste and texture, his mouth and prodigious belly with fresh longing. He grabbed a massive roasted fowl from the nearest table. An instant later its flesh was parting, bones crunching, between his jaws. His stomach gave a gratified burble. The infernal turkey was far more satisfying than the imp had been... That improvised meal had only sated Bluthkurbu for a few seconds, and he'd felt hunger's terrible, terrible pangs gnawing at his guts. The demon shuddered at the nightmarish recollection. He seized a towering, tiered yellow cake made of thick concentric discs, and rammed it down his gullet. Vast quantities of marzipan helped soften and sweeten the unpleasant memory's blow. He'd cried out for sustenance, only to have his trembling minions tell him that their stores were empty. Empty! Did they think Bluthkurbu was some kind of famine demon who could go minutes -- whole minutes! -- without nourishment? Fortunately they'd had prisoners, demons taken for torture and amusement. Thus he'd sent for them, and eaten them alive whilst demanding explanations between each bite. "Supplies never arrived!" an advisor had said. "Must have been ambushed!" Bluthkurbu had had a lanky fiend by the arm and leg, stretched horizontal across the fat demon's body. At that pronouncement, he'd spat a chunk of rib and lung back into the still-moaning wretch. "Ambushed!" Slivers of flesh and fragments of bone had rained from his maw. "Who would dare? Who?" No answer had been forthcoming, so Bluthkurbu had eaten the advisor. And still he'd been hungry... The fat demon shuddered, making his mountains of flab wobble. The quivering motion reminded him of jelly, so he seized a platter of the stuff and crammed handfuls into his mouth. He didn't know how he'd survived that terrible journey from the battlefield back to his territory -- borne in a litter carried by his minions, thinning their numbers with his predations in an effort to keep hunger at bay... It had been abominable, more horrific than the worst punishments inflicted on any of hell's sinners. But in the end he'd made it back alive, and ordered the gargantuan alfresco feast over which he now presided. When his strength was restored, he'd return to the campaign. For now... Bluthkurbu seized a rack of giant ribs. Two imps clung to it, nibbling away at the delicious blue meat. He pushed the whole thing, fiends and all, into his cavernous mouth. There was crunching. *** * "Dagunar? My, this is quite a gathering!" Y'Raxa Krund's smile makes you imagine primordial teeth at your throat. But her laugh is merry, her eyes sparkling. She and the prince's other new recruits were waiting for you here, to meet you when you marched out with Dagunar and his water demons. You step forward. The blue demoness glances at you. "I'm Kasan, and I'm pleased to-" She looks at Brachus. "One of your sinners is talking to me. May I torture him for his impudence?" "My companions aren't sinners... Or at least not condemned ones. They entered our realm before their deaths and judgments." "Why? Do they know what we do to their kind here?" "They came here for us... me." "Oh..." She eyes you and the others with newfound interest. So does the blue imp, whom Brachus introduced as General Druka. "You look like an experienced warrior," he says, eyeing you up and down. "Seen many battles?" "Lots," you reply. He nods. "Good. You humans know how to obey orders and follow tactics. Not all demons do..." "What of Bluthkurbu?" Brachus asks. "The scouts say he's feasting. Surprising behavior, yes?" The prince laughs. "How many?" "Not enough to defeat us, if we attack in the middle of their meal..." Conclusion Brawl boss unlocked! "No! My food!" Bluthkurbu screamed. "My precious food!" Brachus swung his sword, widening the gaping rend in the gluttony lord's immense stomach. All manner of victuals were pouring from the bloody opening like the bounties of a macabre cornucopia. Some of them had been digested into a disgusting sludge. Others were half-digested, and others still looked almost fresh. A few tiny fiends crawled out from the festering stench and scurried away. "Krezzor is mine!" the prince exclaimed. "Anyone who presumes otherwise will suffer the same fate!" He struck again. *** There were carnage and insanity all around Hugh -- colliding bodies, flashing steel, exploding spells, spurting blood, upset tables, and food flying through the air in great volleys. He felt like a sailor in the eye of a tempest, gazing out at the maelstrom which might consume him at any moment. Rakshara was locked in battle with a fat soulstealer, whose belly hung from him like a pregnant woman's. His eyes glowed, his mouth twitched as he tried to work whatever dark power danced on the tip of his tongue. But the oroc's knee smashed into his pendulous gut, and from the widening of his mouth and eyes, something within had given way beneath her heavy crystal bones. Other demons were converging on her, either through the haphazard whims and winds of war or else because they sought to put an end to the slaughter she was wreaking upon their warriors. A band charged from close at hand, on her right, and she turned to meet them with sword and shield. But a more distant group was making for her from the left -- rushing towards her exposed back. Hugh cried out and hurtled to intercept them. "Get back, you sodding bastards!" A plump sloth demon looked round, gave a sleepy blink, and received Hugh's shoulder in his chest. When the Titaran and Brachus had both resided in his flesh, their strength had been the latter's. But their weight... their girth... That was all Hugh. That was the house steak and kidney pies had built. Now it crashed into the fiend, and sent him flying -- straight into his comrades. The sloth demon and two others went down in a tangle. The ones beyond were staggered, their charge disrupted. And then Hugh was among them. A pink succubus raised her arm to ward off a blow. The cleaver sheared through the limb as though it were a joint of lamb on a butcher's block, and bit into her neck. Green blood spurted from the wound. It fountained above her as she fell. The heavy blade swept in wild, maddened arcs, with all of the Titaran's mass behind it. Other arms met its path and ended up on the ground amidst the food and gore. A sword tried to parry, and was knocked from the owner's grasp. A clawed hand tore at Hugh's leg. His calf burned as cloth and skin parted beneath infernal talons. A blade nicked the side of his pelvis, scraping against the bone. A big red fist smashed into his ribs. He didn't care. The pain, the injuries, the fear... They were washed away amidst a tide of rage, blood, and sweeping steel. "Piss off!" A purple yellow throat opened. Turquoise fingers danced in the air. Coal-black eyes blinked and faded. His cleaver came down in a murderous chop. It sank deep into a fiend's body, slicing through his collarbone and down into the ribcage. And there it stuck. Hugh yanked at it, trying to drag it free for another swing. It was held fast. And crimson eyes blazed on his left... Infernal flame would sheathe the blade and sear it free... Eldritch might would fly from his left hand and blast the demon aside... These instinctive thoughts flashed into his brain. But there was no magic. Not for him. He was going to die. Something buffeted him, knocking him back. Orange flashed before his eyes. An oroc war cry rang in his ears. Rakshara was there, her shield knocking a demon spinning, her sword piercing another fiend's throat. They were all on her now, the wave of enemies who'd thought to assail the Titaran -- clawing, slashing, thrusting. But the oroc didn't count the odds. She raged and struck, lashing with steel, battering with crystal. Then there was a crunch. A length of black demonic metal was in her side, its serrated edge grinding and grating against her crystal-crusted innards. She cried out, and hacked Rogar's Dream across the fiend's neck. He fell away, his head hanging half off his neck -- leaving the sword behind, wedged in her orange flesh. Rakshara staggered backwards. Her heavy body crashed amidst the spilled blood and dismembered limbs. The Titaran screamed. He threw himself down beside her, the cleaver falling from his hand. "Hugh..." The oroc's voice was the shattering of gems. *** Hugh plodded through the darkness. He was alone, walking the littered plain, surrounded by the rancid-sweet smells of scattered food and slaughtered corpses. "Hugh..." Roasted meat and severed limbs... Crushed cakes and splattered skulls... His boots crunched and squished through the debris. Bodies lay strewn about, or else heaped in piles where they'd fallen in the thickest fighting. The Titaran's gaze roamed across them, as memories and imaginings interspersed recollected or fabricated scenes. Bluthkurbu's carcass stood apart from the others, a grotesque mountain of dark viscera, smothered in the shadows of moonless night. "Hugh..." The faint, almost imperceptible sound of talk floated to him on the rank, infernal air. A million worlds away, the others were resting and eating and chattering -- upwind of the carnage. Celebrating a battle won. But there was no celebrating for the Titaran. An immense tear split the fat demon's dead flesh. It was a horrific wound, which had disgorged inconceivable gluttony and endless tangles of intestines. Hugh didn't even hesitate. He dropped his cleaver and plunged his hands inside. Cold, slithering chunks of meat slid across his skin. His fingers closed around something and tugged. It moved, then held. "Hugh..." He planted his boot in the middle of the gore, steeled himself, grunted, and tugged again -- throwing his weight into it. There was a wet ripping noise as Bluthkurbu's heart came free. Hugh tore it out of the corpse and gazed at the misshapen thing. He raised it to his mouth. "No!" A powerful blow dashed the organ from his hands. It flopped among pools of part-digested sweetmeats. "You sodding bastard!" Hugh shoved at Brachus. The muscular demon's purple body didn't budge an inch. "You fool! Bluthkurbu's body is poisoned. It would have killed you." "Piss off! Bloody well piss off!" The Titaran's fist smashed against the prince's chest. Hugh groaned. It was like punching armor. "It's natural that our separation has... affected you. I was a fool not to have prepared you for it. But it will pass in time." "That's bleeding easy for you to say! Look at you! You're a sodding god in this place. You're strong, you have powers... I'm just a fat, useless heap of crap!" "You're no less than you were when I first met you." "It didn't matter then! I made pies for a blooming living! I didn't go around with people like Tessa or bloody Kasan and fight demons! What good am I to them, to..." "To Rakshara?" "It was my fault! She was saving me, because I'm sodding worthless!" "She'll recover, and-" "What about next time? Next time she gets hurt, or one of the others gets hurt, looking after me?" "Warriors, or even heroes, aren't born. They're made. has the blood of the dragon-rider in his veins, but he fights so well because he's been trained. You-" "Bollocks! What? You think I could learn to be a real fighter just like that?" He clicked his fingers. "We both know that's a bloody load of crap! I need power! Proper power, like you have. And if I can't get it from him..." He kicked a heap of Bluthkurbu's flab. "...I'll find another demon! Occulus wasn't poisoned... There are more, aren't there? Like him?" "Yes, but-" "Then help me find one! You bleeding well owe me!" "You don't understand what you're asking." "I'm asking to be sodding useful, not just a waste of space!" "Listen... When I was inside your body, all the infernal powers we wielded were my doing. The gods can forgive this. But if you took such things for yourself, if infernal energy became part of your own soul... You'd be damned." "So? I don't give a toss!" "When you died, you'd be hurled here, into the hells. Heaven would be barred to you." "Sod heaven, and sod the blooming gods! You can piss off, and they can piss off and all!" "And Rakshara?" "What?" "Do you believe damnation will be her lot?" "Of course not, you sodding bastard! She's a good woman! She'll get to that... that... crystal kingdom place of hers... Oh..." "Yes... She'll ascend, and you'll fall. You'd be parted for eternity." For a full minute there was no sound but the wind and the distant laughter it bore. "I have to. I have to protect her. I need to be strong, so she doesn't... So she doesn't get hurt again. Find me a demon, Brachus." The prince sighed. "If this is your wish..." "Yes. It is." "You were right... I do owe you a great debt. You've been a loyal... friend." "Then you'll help me to-" Brachus' left hand glowed, casting magenta light across both their faces and illuminating the grisly tableau which surrounded them. Then it plunged into his side. Sorcery-shrouded fingers pierced his purple flesh, disappearing within. When they emerged, they clutched something red. "A kidney," the demon said. "For old times' sake." He passed the bloody organ into Hugh's trembling hands. The Titaran gazed into the prince's eyes. Then he ate. Category:Man and Fiend